When Them Frogs Sing
by WhiteWitchArcherAlchemist
Summary: Every year on a certain day, Franny Robinson would cry without fail. Only her husband knew the real reason why. And now, so did Wilbur. Taking things into his own hands, the young Robinson tries to make things better-- but may have just made things worse
1. Prologue

**This story begins about a year or two before Lewis met Wilber . . . and starts with Franny and her best friend. I'd always wondered what gave Franny the Idea to teach frogs to sing, and the answer is Clare Carter.**

Clare took a hold on Franny's hand, pulling her through the house toward the backyard. "Come on, Girlfriend, let's go!"

Franny laughed, letting herself be dragged by her eccentric best friend. It was a Saturday night in late fall, when it was just the right temperature to go prancing around at night. Clare was two years older then Franny, making her eleven. She had short brown hair that no amount of combing could ever tame, and light pale skin.

"I'm coming Clare, slow down!" Franny said, running down the back steps carefully in her sandals and skirt. Clare giggled, pulling her into the small lake that took up most of the younger girl's backyard. Clare flopped down into the grass onto her back and staring at the dark sky. Franny tilted her head at her friend, then shook her head with a smile. She sat down facing away from Clare so that when she laid down their heads were next to each other. The two girls looked at the stars for a while, until Franny heard a strange croaking coming from the lake. She frowned.

"Stupid frogs," She sighed. "They're so annoying!"

Clare tilted her head back to look at her younger friend. "Why do you say that?"

"The noises they make . . . I can never sleep when I've got my window open at night!"

Clare was silent a moment, before she chuckled. "I don't think they're trying to annoy you Franny, maybe they just like to sing."

Franny scoffed. "The day frogs sing is the day when people travel around in bubbles!"

Clare laughed at the silly statement. "But it's true kid, Frogs have more musical ability then people!"

"You're full of it!"

"Yeah, it's called blood."

Franny sat up and got on her hands and knees, hovering above her friend. "Come on, Clare, I know you like to believe in weird things, but Singing Frogs?" Franny rolled her eyes.

Clare looked at her friend and sighed. "Oh, Franny . . . one of these days you're gonna realize how big the world is . . . you're gonna see some really crazy things in your lifetime . . . so why not singing frogs?"

Franny shook her head. "Clare, you're crazy!"

The older girl just grinned. "Like you're one to talk."

_Thwack!_

"OW! Franny!!"

Franny got up off the ground and helped her tomboy friend stand. Clare rubbed the spot Franny had hit her.

"Come on, Mom said she got ice cream!"

"You said the magic words!" Clare laughed, running after her friend.

---

"It was my childhood . . . when everything was alright . . . when everything was perfect. When life was easy, when it always seemed to have a silver lining.

When did it have to go wrong?"

---

"Clare! Clare! Guess what?!"

A twelve year old Clare turned away from her homework and smiled at her friend. "Yeah, Franny? What's up?"

Franny giggled, glomping her older friend. "Come on, let's go to the park! I think Frankie needs some fresh air!"

Clare smirked at the mention of her friend's beloved pet frog. She sighed and shook her head. "I gotta do homework, Kiddo, maybe later."

Franny frowned, sticking out her lower lip in a pout. "But- but- but- . . . !"

Clare sighed, running her hand through her short, spiky brown hair that had splotches of blue all around it randomly. It was the reminance of her father spilling an entire bucket of paint onto her head.

"I want to go, kid, but," She glared accusingly at her mathbook as if it was it's fault.

"You can come back to it later!" Franny yelled, grabbing her friend's arm. "?!?"

Clare looked back at her textbooks, then sighed.

"Alright, alright. I'll come."

---

"All I wanted was to see her smile again.

After her mom got sick, she wasn't around much anymore. I was only trying to help . . .

But that's what everybody seems to say, isn't it?"

---

"Kiddo? I think we should head home now . . . " Clare said, squinting up at the sky.

Franny wined. "Aw, Clare, we only just got here!"

"Yeah, but-"

"Ooh! Ice Cream! Come on Clare!!"

Clare sighed. "Alright, alright,"

---

"Just as simple as that. I wanted Ice Cream. She agreed. I should have realized it was getting late, but I couldn't seem to understand.

I was just a kid . . . I didn't get how important this test was to her.

We were both so young . . . "

---

Clare grabbed the back of Franny's dress as she was about to run across the street. She pulled the younger girl back and held both her arms. "Are you crazy?" She hissed. "You're supposed to wait until there aren't any cars coming before you cross the street!!"

Franny blinked, then looked down. "Sorry . . . " She scuffed the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe.  
"You should be," Clare shook her head, holding out her hand. "Now hold my hand, come on,"

Franny nodded and held her friend's hand as the older girl looked back and forth.

---

"She did it to protect me. I didn't understand that then . . . I thought she was just using her higher authority over me to make me do what she said . . . because she was older . . .

I didn't realize she was just trying to protect me . . . "

---

Clare heard it before she saw it.

She spun around so fast, something in her neck snapped.

The car-- it was making a beeline down the road.

Right at them.

Right at Franny.

---

"I heard her scream my name. It all happened so fast, my head was spinning.

So many things happened at once, I couldn't catch up . . . "

---

Clare felt her legs move before her head knew exactly what was going on.

She ran forward, planting both her hands on the younger girl's back. With a firm shove, Franny was sent tumbling to the concrete.

She sat back up to yell at Clare, but then her eyes widened.

The car, a blue Toyoda, hit the girl head on. She was flung backwards, her body slamming into the street with a sickening thud and crack.

Franny scrambled to her feet and ran toward her friend, who was laying crumpled in unnatural angles. A puddle of blood was growing around her.

"Clare?! Clare?!?! Can you hear me?! Clarey?!"

---

"She was so young . . . she was only twelve . . . she only wanted to buy me Ice Cream . . .

She was my best friend."

---

" . . . Franny?"

The pigtailed girl nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, yes Clare it's me! You're gonna be okay!! Mr. Issac called 911!!"

Clare grinned weakly. "Franny . . . I got something to tell you . . . "

Franny nodded.

There were people everywhere. They were crowded around Clare, everybody wanting to know the same thing.

"Is she alright?!"

"Has someone called an ambulance?!"

"Hang on kid!! Hang on!!"

Clare ignored all of them, keeping her weak smile on Franny. "Kiddo . . . them frogs . . . them frogs of yours . . . "

"Yeah?" Franny said, tears running down her face.

Clare reached up with a shaking hand, wiping them away from her cheeks.

"Just you wait girlfriend . . . them frogs is gonna sing for you . . . "

Franny blinked at her happy friend. Her body was broken and bleeding . . . yet even as she was dieing, Clare was still able to be optimistic.

"Them frogs is gonna sing for you . . . I promise . . . them frogs are gonna sing . . . "

---

Franny sat on the edge of her bed, wearing her favorite pare of plumb purple pajamas about twenty years after that day. Her black hair was let loose around her head, the family cowlick still in place. Her husband sat on his knees in front of her, holding her hands in his.

"Oh, . . . Oh Cornelius . . . I miss her . . . I miss her so much!!" Franny sobbed.

Cornelius Robinson took his wife into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly. "I know, baby," He whispered. "I know . . . "

Outside, each sob that escaped his mother felt like a knife dragged across Wilber Robinson's chest. He glanced into the room, watching his father embrace his mother. Wilber clenched his fist, then broke into a run. Every year was like this . . . the only day of the year his mother ever cried.

June 11th . . . twenty years ago.

That date kept slipping though his mind. Over and over and over again . . .

As Wilber jumped into the time machine, he came to a decision.

His mother would never cry again.

**Well? How was it? Please review if you think I should continue! ^_^**


	2. Chapter 1

**Da-da-da-da-daaaaaa! xD So, are you people happy? I hope so, I worked hard on this baby. I ended up having to rewrite this quite a few times because my muse was being a bitch. -_-0 But never fear, I have updated! Yay!  
. . . yeah whatever just read it.

* * *

**"DAD!" Wilbur yelled, pounding on the door with the hand that wasn't currently holding onto a heavily bleeding girl. "DAD! DAD! LEWIS!"

The door was opened a second later, the twelve-year-old counterpart of Wilbur's father stood there, looking tired and frantic.

"Wilbur? What's wrong?" Lewis squinted out into the rain, at the form of his only son holding a young girl. She looked unconscious, her breathing raged and blood seeping through her clothes.

"Dad . . . I need your help . . . please . . . "

Lewis's mouth dropped open, staring at the girl in his future son's arms. She was small, with wet brown and blue hair that was sticking to her forehead from the rain. Her body was small and thin, that plus her pale skin and dark clothing made her look more fragile. The young inventor backed away from the door and frantically waved the older boy in.

Wilbur hesitantly walked into the front hallway as Lewis closed and locked the door behind him. The youngest Robinson's black hair was drooping, falling into his face. He didn't bother to try and brush it away.

"Dad, please help . . . she's gonna bleed to death . . . " Wilbur sounded out of breath, gasping, as if he'd run a marathon.

Lewis looked from his son, to the passed out girl in his arms. "What happened?" He asked.

"That . . . is an excellent question! Did you invent that chronic healing chamber yet?" Wilbur dodged the inquiry.

Lewis nodded without a pause. "Well, yeah, but it's still only in the prototype stage- Wilbur!"

Without waiting for his father to finish his sentence, the young Robinson was already down the hall and around the corner. He knew fully well now to navigate this house . . . or, the only part of it so far. He raced up the stairs, his soggy tennis shoes slapping the floor as he skid around corner after corner. After a few minutes of sprinting, he came to the big observatory that served as his father's lab. There was a small cot on one side of the room, and he laid the limp girl down on it carefully. Lewis came running in a second later, finding Wilbur to be just about everywhere at once.

"Where did you store the bandages?"

"Wilbur!"

"Where's that healing chamber?"

"Wilbur!"

"Come on, Lewis, work with me-"

"_Wilbur!_" Lewis snapped, grabbing the attention of his pointy-haired son. "What is going on? You bring an unconscious and bleeding girl to my house in the middle of the night, demanding the healing chamber? What the _hell_ is going on?"

Wilbur opened his mouth.

"AND! Don't you even think about just saying "That is an excellent question!" Wilbur Robinson!" Lewis added before the older boy could get a word in.

Wilbur was silent a moment, then glanced back at the barely alive girl on the cot. "I- I'll explain while she's in the chamber! Come on, we don't have much time!"

Lewis nodded, also sending a look at the helpless girl. Wilbur picked her up again, not caring that blood was getting onto his tee-shirt from that old tv show, and followed Lewis as he led them through his hap-hazard lab to the healing . . . thingy.

Lewis pushed a few buttons on the screen, and the glass door popped open. Wilbur carefully laid her down on the soft bed inside, then let Lewis close the lid. The blond tapped a few more buttons, and a soft light came from inside the glass tube. It wasn't very long, just about six or seven feet, and looked basically like a glass cocoon. Air traveled through the tubes attached to the front of the machine, and a soft buzzing started in the background.

Lewis stared at his machine, willing it not to malfunction and fail while a living being was inside it. A moment later, the buzzing dulled to a soft werring. Lewis turned to Wilbur and took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt.

"Wilbur . . . ?"

Said boy twitched. "Errr . . . uhm . . . yes father?"

"Why, may I ask?"

Wilbur sagged, leaning back against a lab table for support. He sighed, and started to run his fingers through his short black hair, a futile attempt to make it stand back up. "Her name is Clare Carter."

"Girlfriend of yours?" Lewis asked with a small smirk. Wilbur shook his head.

"No . . . she was one of mom's . . . "

Lewis blinked. " . . . eh? . . . you're gonna have to explain that,"

Wilbur sighed. "Every year, on the exact same day, mom would spend all twenty-four hours of the day sobbing. Dad- er, you -would always take the day off to spend it with her and help her through it. I didn't know why until today."

Lewis stayed silent, waiting. Wilbur sighed again.

"She's," He gestured to the girl, Clare. "She used to be mom's best friend. Clare was the one who gave her the idea to teach frogs to sing," Lewis's eyes widened. This was the girl who showed Franny her lifelong hobby of teaching frogs to sing? The one who made her so adamant about it? Lewis turned to stare at the girl's face. She looked peaceful, and even though she was only in the chamber for a couple of minutes, most of her worst bruises were fading and less serious cuts were closing up. Good, the machine was doing it's job.

"She . . . She's two years older then mom, but the age difference didn't matter. They were like sisters, I guess, from what I could make out. She and Clare were crossing the street to get some Ice Cream, but then a car came down the road, speeding toward mom-" Wilbur paused, watching the expression on his father's face closely. Horror was starting to show.

"But . . . but Clare shoved her out of the way and took the impact, sending herself flying down the street. She broke a few ribs, maybe a blood vessel or two; I don't know . . ." He shook his head. "When I found out, I don't know what came over me . . . before I could think I was already in the time machine I took to pick you up and was heading back twenty years to save my mother's best friend. I don't really remember how I got her, though," Wilbur said, scratching his head. "That whole period was a blur, really, I didn't know what I was doing until I rushed forward to this time."

Lewis blinked at his son. "Well . . . that explains a lot . . . "

Wilbur nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think it helps . . . mom and her family still thinks she's dead- Dad, what are we gonna do?"

" . . . wait for her to wake up, I guess . . . " Said Lewis, taking of his glasses to clean them again. "Come on, Mom got the guestroom set up- you can stay here tonight."

"You sure that's okay?"

"I'm sure your dad will forgive me."

"Right."

* * *

"Mmm . . . ?"

Everything was soft, comfortable, and warm. She felt good, that was really all that could be said. Her body didn't hurt anymore, her joints didn't ache but god all she wanted to do was sleeeeeeep . . .

Clare furrowed her eyebrows at the sound of an insistent beeping. She attempted to ignore it, but the more she resisted te sound, the more in pounded on her skull. It was dull, monotone, almost like an alarm clock. She moved to roll over, reach out and smack her clock/radio off the nightstand and go back to sleep, but when she attempted to move a sharp pain shot up Clare's spine. It paralized opened her light blue eyes blearily, looking up at the clear ocean-blue sky-

Wait . . . _the sky? WTF?_

Clare shot upright into a sitting positing, but she smacked her forehead into a glass ceiling. She fell back and groaned, nursing the spot. She opened her eyes again and reached up, tapping the glass. She pressed her palms against it, struggling. It wouldn't budge. A thought struck her. She remembered getting hit by the car, laying on the ground. Feeling . . . sticky? God help her . . . blood, was it? Oh hell . . . had she died? Was she- was she in a coffin? About to be buried?

No . . . no . . . then why was something beeping? People don't bring mechanical birds to funerals. Funeral. Oh God (again) Franny! What about Franny?

Clare shot upright again, forgetting about the glass ceiling. She thwacked her head again and groaned once more. Dammit . . . Clare lifted her hands and tried to force the heavy coffin lid open. It still refused to move. She was panicking now. What if she ran out of air? What if nobody noticed her? What if they buried her alive? God God God to the infinity!

There was one thing Clare still hadn't tried. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs and puffing up her chest before letting out an ear-shattering scream for help.

* * *

Wilbur's eyes snapped open at the sound of a scream. It was loud and shrill, terrified. Wilbur got up, pulling his blankets off and hurrying out of his room and across the hall, into Lewis's room. He grabbed Lewis and attempted to shake him awake. The blond just grumbled something unintelligible before rolling over. Wilbur rolled his eyes, his father being able to sleep through Armageddon.

Wilbur hurried out of the room and bounded back toward the workshop, where the scream was coming from. He moved toward the chronic-healing doo-hickey, and peered into the glass.

Clare's scream cut off, staring up at him in fear. Wilber turned toward the control pad and stabbed at random buttons before the class door unlocked. He pulled it open. "Hey, it's alright you don't have to be-OW!"

He was cut off as Clare shot upright and decked him -hard- across the face. "GET AWAY YOU CREEP!" She squealed, leaping out of the Healing chamber and collapsing to the floor. Wilbur, still reeling from the punch to his jaw, tried to help her up. She slapped his hand away and backed into the cool, hard metal of the machine she was trapped in and stared at the boy in front of her. Her blue eyes were bright and wide with terror.

"Who are you?" She demanded, grabbing a nearby desk and using it to lift herself back up on her shaky legs. Clare snatched up a screwdriver and pointed it at Wilber like a knife. "Where am I? Why the hell was I in a coffin?"

Wilbur lifted his hands up above his head. He stared at the screwdriver pointed at his nose. This . . . wasn't going like he'd planned. "Clare . . . it's okay . . . I'm not going to hurt you or-"

"How do you know my name?" Clare demanded, stepping forward and forcing Wilbur to back away from her. "Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I and why the hell aren't I dead?"


End file.
